


Shot Through the Heart (And You're Too Late)

by JustADumbWriter



Category: Batman - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:26:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11581812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustADumbWriter/pseuds/JustADumbWriter
Summary: The unthinkable happens, and the Game is changed forever...





	1. Chapter 1

"Oh BATS~!"

Two shots echo throughout the empty warehouse, and two darts of sharp, thin metal with red flags that say 'BANG!' attached to them plough themselves into the wall behind Bruce. The nearer of the two just barely misses his cheek. Bruce's eyes flit around the room, trying to pinpoint where the shots had come from. He spots a pillar, and dives for it, pressing his back flush against it.

"Oh, Batsy, I've missed you-- but my aim's getting better!" The Joker's cackles bounce off the walls and seem to embed themselves into Bruce's eardrums. 

A chill runs down his spine. 

Bruce is trying to think on his feet, but his head is a buzzing mess. He can't help but think back to their last encounter. It was nearly three months ago now. Bruce had begun to wonder if Joker would resurface at all, or if maybe... Maybe...

Bruce shakes himself out of his daze.

' _No. Now is not the time. FOCUS._ '

He pulls out his grappling hook, and glances up to the walkway above him. He can hear footsteps on the metal. They're heading towards directly above where he is. Bruce pulls out his grappling hook and aims. 

' _3... 2... 1!_ '

He shoots, and grapples up onto the walkway, landing a foot in front of the Joker. 

"Batsy, baby! So good to see you up close again!" Joker grins, arms wide open and an eyebrow raised. 

Bruce lunges at Joker, knocking him backwards onto the ground, and hitting the gun out of his hand. It falls from the walkway and clatters to the ground. 

"Oh my, looks like you've missed me just as much! Skipping all the talking and getting right down to it!" Joker waggles his eyebrows, before using all his force to overpower Bruce, so that he ends up beneath, head hanging over the edge of the walkway. 

"Sorry hot stuff, I wanna be on top tonight!" He sneers, taking out a flip knife from his trouser pocket. 

"And I thought you were just pleased to see me," Bruce can't help but retort, eyeing the knife. 

Joker cackles, momentarily loosening his grip on Bruce, which is all he needs. Bruce head butts Joker, getting him in the chin, and pushes him off. Bruce then scrambles to his feet, and grabs Joker by the lapels, lifting him off the ground with the force. The knife falls and lands beside the gun on the floor. Joker's hands wrap around Bruce's wrists, and he notices blood dribbling from his mouth. He grins, and Bruce can see a fresh gap in the bottom row of his teeth. 

"It's a good thing I didn't bite my tongue, or that would've been the last you'd ever heard of my witty banter!" Joker hisses, some of his words punctuated by a slight whistle. 

"Doesn't seem like a bad thing," Bruce growls. 

"I thought you had stopped all this," He says, a tone of weariness creeping into his threatening demeanour, "I thought after the last time, you might have changed."

Joker rolls his eyes and scowls. "I never said our little game had to end right now, Bats! We've still got some good years left in us," Joker looks him up and down, "Plus, if I wasn't causing chaos in Gotham I'm sure you wouldn't even give me the time of day~!"

Bruce feels his disappointment flare into anger, and he throws Joker onto the ground. Joker laughs at the impact, but it quickly turns into a spluttering cough. 

"Listen," he says, clambering back up onto his feet and raising a hand, "Not that I'm not thrilled to see you again, but, am I really the priority here? What about all the other costumed losers now freely running through Gotham?"

Bruce clenches his fists, advancing silently. Joker had definitely come back onto the scene with a bang- figuratively and literally- by detonating explosives on the side of Arkham, and letting every prisoner escape. Miraculously, there had been minimal injuries and no deaths, but the matter of fact was that Arkham was now empty, and all the dangerous criminals that were incarcerated there were now back in business. 

Joker did have a point; he wasn't the main focus of the police force at present. But Batman wasn't part of the police force. 

Bruce stops just inches from Joker, gunmetal blue eyes drilling into his electric green. He falters for a moment. Usually, Joker throws a punch at this point, or turns tail and tries to run, but tonight he's doing... _Nothing_. He just stares back at Bruce with an unreadable expression.

Just as Joker opens his mouth to say something, the door of the warehouse crashes open, and several beams of white light sweep the room. 

"Typical, they always know just when to ruin the moment!" Joker rolls his eyes, "Ah, well, this has been fun but I gotta make like a skull on the sidewalk and split! See ya, Bats!" 

Joker blows a kiss to Bruce, and turns on his heel. He belts towards the window, and Bruce takes a moment to start up and follow suit. He mentally curses himself for not being more alert as he does. Below the both of them, Bruce can hear shouts among the police officers, signalling each other to the Joker's whereabouts. 

A few beams of light sweep up to catch the Joker, and Bruce tries to up his pace, but suddenly, another noise cuts through the sound of pounding feet on metal and shouting. 

A sharp, unnatural sound that Bruce knows far too well. 

A gunshot. 

Time doesn't stop, like so many people say it does. There's not a slow-motion play through of everything that happens. Instead, it all happens too quickly for Bruce to even process it. It's not until he hears the heavy crash of a body falling from the walkway to the floor below that Bruce even fully realises what is happening. 

He sprints to the spot that Joker had been a split second before, and stares down onto the floor of the warehouse. He can feel his pulse pushing blood through every single vein and ventricle. He can see stars in the corners of his eyes. He can't focus on what he's looking at but at the same time he can't look away. 

The police are all crowded around the body, checking its vitals. 

Bruce can see one officer shake her head. A tiny, solemn movement. 

Bruce's knees feel as if they're away to give out completely, and his stomach churns. His hands shake against the flimsy chainlink handrail, and he looks down to see a drop of blood between his feet on the walkway. 

He knows this can't be happening, but he also knows that it is. 

That it _has_. 

It's happened, and there is no way to reverse it, or undo it. 

The Joker is dead, and their game is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A good song to sum up this fic:
> 
> Good Grief - Bastille


	2. Chapter 2

The gunshot is still ringing in his ears when he finally, slowly lets go of the railing. For ten minutes or so, he's been standing above the commotion, watching and powerless to do anything. 

They pronounced him dead on the scene, as soon as the paramedics had arrived. 

Dead. 

The weight of it has not fully hit Bruce yet, but he knows it will soon, and he needs to get out. Deep breath in. Hold it. Long breath out. He turns towards the open window that Joker had been trying to escape through, and uses his grappling hook to leave the warehouse. 

He had only been a few feet away. 

If he had just been faster...  
Or...  
If Bruce had been able to apprehend him before the officer...

' _You can't do this. Not here._ ' Bruce warns himself, locating the Bat-mobile and climbing down the fire escape onto the street. 

Bruce notices the streets are wet, and when he glances up, he sees rain pouring down from the sky. 

Just like last time. 

Bruce tries to force the images away, but his mind isn't strong enough to subdue them. They begin to play, slowed-down and interweaved, just to be exceptionally cruel. 

The pounding of two sets of feet on metal changes to the sound of three, gently strolling on concrete. 

The ragged breathing intermixes with casual conversation. 

Soft laughter and cackling both swirl inside Bruce's head, creating an unholy symphony, and he leans against the wall of the warehouse, as his legs begin to give up on him. 

The shouts of an officer and the demands of a desperate man both fill Bruce's head, and the same sickening feeling plants itself in his very bones. 

Then, the sound of gunshots. 

Two.  
One. 

The sound of two bodies falling onto the concrete, pearls scattering, and then one- crashing onto a metal floor far below. 

Bruce's vision is swimming, he pushes himself back onto his feet and shakily walks towards the alleyway the Bat-mobile is parked in. 

Just a few blocks more. 

He fights to see reality, his vision clouded with the bodies and blood of his parents and Joker. 

The gunshots seem to play on repeat now, almost deafening in his ears. 

The sounds of the catalytic events that have changed him and his life forever. 

The first shots created Batman, and now, he wonders if the the last has ended him. 

He makes it to the Bat-mobile, and wrenches open the door, before collapsing inside into the driver's seat. His breath is coming quick and ragged, and he can feel himself shaking to the point of convulsion. Tears fill his eyes, and he lets them spill over. His heart is pounding so hard he feels like it could give out at any moment. He feels his throat closing up, and tries to breathe harder, but as he does, he suddenly remembers a piece of advice given to him years ago. 

"Now, Master Bruce, what I'm about to tell you is very important, because there will be times when no one is around to help you but yourself."

Alfred. His calming tone manages to settle Bruce's head a fraction, though his physical symptoms are still raging. 

"This is how to ground yourself when you are having an anxiety attack."

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut, trying to concentrate on exactly what Alfred had said. 

"...First, you must acknowledge five things you can see..."

Bruce's eyes fly open, and his gaze darts about, quickly cataloguing what he can see. 

' _Streetlight, sidewalk, steering wheel, wing mirror, door handle._ ' 

"...Then, think of four things you can touch..."

Bruce yanks off one of his gloves, and raises his shaking hand to his face.

' _Cowl, lips, stubble, other hand._ ' 

"... Three things you can hear..."

' _Rain, distant traffic, breathing._ '

"... Two things you can smell..."

' _Wet fabric, leather seats._ '

"... And one thing you can taste..."

' _Salt..._ ' He notices, as a tear has dripped into his mouth. 

Bruce feels his symptoms begin to subside, and he takes a few longer, shaky breaths. He's definitely not out of the woods yet, but he just needs to level himself for long enough to get back to Wayne Manor. He flexes his fingers, and takes hold of the steering wheel. 

The drive back is a blur, and he's hyperventilating again by the time he pulls into the Bat-cave.


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce drags himself out of the Bat-mobile, and sits with his back against the car, knees held tightly to his chest. He fumbles with his cowl, and takes it off, throwing it as far away from him as he can manage. He folds his arms across his knees and buries his face into his forearm. 

This time, the tears streaming down his face are not just the result of shock. 

There are too many emotions for him to even begin to process. 

Hell, he can hardly even process more than two emotions on a good day.

Fury and vengeance are what he feels on the surface. Fiery and driven. He clings to these, hoping to feel only them. Hoping to use them as motivation to keep going and do something. 

But he knows they are superficial. The anger is simply a guise for the much more self-destructive emotions underneath. 

Sadness, grief, loss. 

Loss...

Bruce has lost the Joker and, he feels, a part of himself. A part much larger than he had expected it to be. 

He chokes out a sob, squeezing his eyes shut tight and gritting his teeth. 

His breathing is ragged again, and so loud he barely hears the set of footsteps approaching. He only really notices them when they stop beside him. 

"... Master Bruce," he feels a tentative hand rest lightly on his shoulder. 

Bruce doesn't raise his head. He opens his mouth to answer, but only voices another pained sob. 

Alfred sits down next to Bruce, and snakes his arm around his shoulders. He gives him a small squeeze, and rubs his back for a moment. It is very rare for Alfred to physically comfort Bruce, but tonight is... No average night. 

The minutes crawl by as the two men sit together, Alfred patiently sitting beside Bruce, arm still firm around his shoulders, and Bruce still curled in on himself. 

After what feels like it could have been days, Bruce's tears stop flowing, and he stops shaking. His breath and pulse come back to a normal pace, and he slowly raises his head to look to Alfred. 

Alfred feels his heart twinge at the sight; Bruce, usually so confident and cocky, who is now red-eyed and disheveled. A harrowed version of Gotham's most charismatic personality. He does not withdraw his arm. 

"H-How did..." Bruce's voice cracks, and he doesn't finish the sentence. 

"I always have my ear close to the ground when you're out on a call," He explains, offering a small smile, "I was about to come and get you when I saw the car was on its way back."

Bruce nods, sniffing, and Alfred pulls out the tissue from his breast pocket. 

"Here," He hands it to Bruce, "You should drink some water. It'll help. You up to moving?"

Bruce stares at the tissue in his hands, then nods, and blots at his face. Alfred stands, and offers Bruce a hand. Bruce takes it, and gingerly gets to his feet. They make their way over to the lift and up to the mansion in silence. Alfred fetches Bruce some sweats, and tells Bruce "Just leave the Bat getup in the bathroom, I'll put it all away for you".

Once he is changed and sitting at the kitchen island, Alfred presses a glass of water into his hands. He also leaves two small Prozac pills on the counter. 

"Thought the double dose might help a little more."

Bruce swallows the pills and sips the water, before looking up to Alfred. 

"... Thank you." He croaks. 

"It's what I'm here for," Alfred reassures him with a small smile, "Are you hungry?"

Bruce shakes his head. He still feels sick. 

Alfred nods, "You need rest, Master Bruce."

' _How can I rest when that scumbag that shot him is still on the streets?_  
_How can I rest when his body is laying in some morgue?_  
_How can I--_ '

"Yeah," Bruce all but whispers. 

He drains the last of his water, and pushes himself up from the counter. 

"Goodnight, Alfred." Bruce tries to give him a smile, but he feels like it's more of a grimace. 

He slowly climbs the stairs, feeling the weight of his sorrow as an almost literal entity, trudges into his room, and crawls into his bed. He stares at the ceiling, numb. His mind is replaying the Joker's final moments, and sometimes his parents'. The shock and anxiety has eased, but has been replaced by a void. Bruce's eyes sting, and he turns onto his side. His tiredness bores down on him, and he can practically feel the lines etching themselves into his face. 

He lies awake for hours.  
When he does finally sleep, it is fitful, and light. 

He keeps waking up to the sound of a cackle being cut off by a gunshot.


	4. Chapter 4

_"I've just been thinking a lot, about our little game. And maybe... Maybe I can see the end in sight. But maybe it doesn't have to end with one of us dying."_

Bruce's eyes crack open, and he groans at the stinging sensation that comes with it. He rubs away the sleep, and stretches out his arms, and then--

Bruce's mind comes fully back into reality, the events of last night again, giving a play-through in his head, like some sick 'previously on'. He brings both hands to his face and rubs at his eyes, until the visions turn into nothing more than colourful dots and flashes. When he opens his eyes again, he notices the room is lit by bright sunlight, but the colour is dulled in Bruce's vision. The world around him looks so... Muted, as if someone has taken almost all of the saturation out of it. He feels like the gravity has been turned up to full, and the crushing weight of it is confining him to lying still and useless on his bed. His throat feels scratchy and sore, and there's a stale taste in his mouth. 

Above all else, Bruce feels empty. 

He feels like every last piece of him has been ripped out, and he is now nothing more than a shell. He curls up tightly around himself, wondering if he's ever felt so small before. 

A few hours pass before he hears a tentative knock on the door. 

He doesn't answer. 

Alfred pushes the door open anyway, and walks quietly over to him. 

"Master Bruce? Are you awake?"

Bruce merely grunts in response. 

"I've made you something to eat. If my mother taught me one thing, it's that a good broth can do a whole world of good."

Bruce hears the sound of a tray being set down on his bedside table, but the lack of footsteps tells him that Alfred is still in the room. Bruce stays where he is. He doesn't want Alfred to see him in this state any more than he already has.

"Try to eat. Please, Master Bruce. You need to take care of yourself."

Alfred sighs quietly when he is met with silence, and turns to leave. As he walks back down the hall, he glances outside to the darkening sky. Against the clouds shines the Bat-signal. He turns his gaze away, knowing that it won't be answered tonight. 

After a week, it's turned off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's up everybody it's everyone's favourite goblin checking in to say I'm still a piece of garbage!!!!!!!
> 
> I couldn't get past this chapter for days so I just thought fuck it and made it super short so I'm sorry and I hope you all enjoyed this massive anti-climax
> 
> I'll try to post more today


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce sits at the kitchen counter, staring into his coffee. It's cold. 

He takes a sip anyway and grimaces. 

Beside him, his phone buzzes. He picks it up and checks the notification. 

' _Now Trending: #JokerGate_ '

He stares at the screen, unmoving, until it fades to black. He feels too stiff to move. He can't even take his eyes off the darkened phone. 

The Joker had been at the top of every social media network and news site for the past week. The first time Bruce had seen the news report, he had put his fist through the television. 

The officer's identity was protected, and they had granted them two months leave. 

Two months leave, fully fucking paid. 

Bruce glances down to his right hand, wrapped in a lightly stained bandage. A moment of ill-placed catharsis had given him three stitches. He tried not to focus on the stinging being the realist thing he had felt in days.

Bruce hadn't looked at his phone at all since he woke up an hour ago. This was an achievement, as he had become glued to it. People were- to his surprise- outraged. Seeing Gotham city citizens voicing their anger at the injustice that had been done to the Joker had eased his days, just slightly. Of course, not everyone was sympathetic. The topic had been divided into a clear split; those who saw the what had happened as murder, and those who saw it as comeuppance. 

The words " _he deserved it_ " could be seen on every other post. People who weighed the murder of one man against his crimes to many. 

And Bruce knew that the Joker was guilty of so much. Of course he did. Joker was a murderer; a criminal. 

He was clinically insane. 

And of course, that would never excuse him from what he had done. Bruce knew that, and according to the internet, half of Gotham knew that too. 

But he could have been stopped without execution. 

He could have been rehabilitated.  
He...  
He maybe even wanted to.

Bruce's mind dregs up another memory. One he hasn't consciously let himself think about since Joker was killed. 

The icy coldness of the memory is so harsh Bruce can practically feel himself shivering. 

_It doesn't have to end with one of us dying._

Those were the words, verbatim, from the Joker himself. He believed that they could have found another way out... Together.

Bruce is brought back from his thoughts by his phone buzzing again, reminding him of the notification. He shakes his head, as if trying to shake the memory from the forefront of his mind, and unlocks his phone. 

Bruce expects to see more of the same in the tag; moral debates from people who want to seem more philosophical than they are, but his stomach drops when he sees the pinned tweet at the top of the feed. 

" _ **DOXXED** \-- Officer who murdered The Joker is Paul Rodgers. Spread the word and don't let this scumbag go unpunished. #JOKERGATE_"

He scrolls down, scanning over more and more tweets with the same information. 

_Paul Rodgers, Paul Rodgers, Paul Rodgers._

His name is plastered all over the tag, as well as his background in the force and--

His address. 

Bruce stops dead, staring at the tweet pinpointing exactly where he lives. His heart thuds against his chest. Before he can stop to think anything through, Bruce is up and out of his chair. He moves faster than he has in a week as he sprints towards the concealed lift to the Bat-cave. He hurls himself inside and punches the button to take him down. 

Bruce wrestles on his Bat-suit in record timing, adrenaline building as he repeats the lines of address over and over again in his head. He dashes towards the Bat-mobile and hurls himself into it, then slams on the acceleration and speeds out of the cave, a tight grip on the steering wheel. 

Paul Rodgers is about to face justice.


	6. Chapter 6

_CRACK!_

Bruce's fist buries into Paul Rodgers' side, and he can feel two ribs crack against his knuckles. His hand is seering, the movement re-opening the fresh wounds from breaking the TV, but he couldn't care less. The pain is driving him.

His other hand is holding onto the man's collar, keeping him from buckling at his feet. 

"I'm gonna ask you again, and this time I think it's in your best interest to answer me," Bruce growls, eyes boring into Paul's, "Did. You. Do. It?"

Squeezing his eyes shut, Paul gives a tiny nod that is almost unseen in the darkness, and finally speaks. 

"Y-Yes," his voice wavers, tears spilling down his cheeks. 

Bruce feels no sympathy, and throws the man against the nearest wall. Paul let's out a cry, and tries to get up. Bruce is quickly in front of him, though, a heavy boot on his leg, weighing him down. 

"You're not getting out of this."

Bruce raises his foot, and brings it down heavily onto Paul's leg. A sick feeling of satisfaction embeds itself in Bruce's gut at the sound of the crunch of a bone, and Paul's ragged scream. 

"S-Someone's gonna hear me, y'know," Paul whimpers, "And they're-- they're gonna call someone."

Bruce scoffs. 

"I know this part of Gotham," he drags Paul up by his collar again, "You've got neighbours above, below, and on the same floor as you, and I can guarantee none of them are on good terms with any police. No one's going to call them."

Paul's breathing is ragged as his hands scrabble at Bruce's forearms. Sweat plasters his brunette hair to his forehead, and his nose is bleeding from when Bruce first greeted him with a head butt. 

Despite his current state, however, Paul still finds the strength to say,

"I'm not gonna apologise. H-He deserved it."

Maybe it was courage that made him say it... Or maybe he just really can't read a vibe. 

Bruce hurls him to the floor. 

"No he _DIDN'T_! You are sworn to serve and protect ALL citizens of Gotham," he punctuates his point with a kick to Paul's ribs, the sickening pleasure growing. "That means even the criminals. You catch them to keep Gotham safe, _and_ to rehabilitate them. You don't get to decide who lives or dies."

Paul remains silent, staring at Bruce with wide eyes. Slowly, Bruce moves his foot to rest on Paul's neck. He presses down. 

It's light at first, but he adds more and more pressure. 

He stares Paul in the face as his eyes bulge, and he scrabbled to get purchase on Bruce's boot. He chokes and gags, and Bruce keeps pressing down. 

' _Just a little longer..._ '

It's _his_ voice Bruce hears in his own head, and it stops him cold. 

Bruce looks down at Paul, and suddenly jumps back, taking his foot off of him altogether. He stares down at him in horror. Paul coughs and splutters, heaving in deep breaths of air. If Bruce had kept going he would have...

"No," Bruce says, aloud. "I'm not going to do this."

He walks back over to Paul, and offers him a hand. He hesitantly takes it, and, as wrong as he feels doing so, Bruce helps Joker's murderer up off the ground. Paul stares at him in a mix of confusion and terror, balancing on the leg that he can still stand on. 

"I'm not like you," Bruce says, staring him right in the eye. "I'm never going to be like you, because I still have my one rule. I still have my morals, and I'm going to stick to them."

He let's go of Paul, and backs away a few steps. 

"I'm not going to kill you."

He turns towards the window, but stops when he hears a voice from behind him. 

"Well _I_ am."

Bruce wheels around, just in time to see the head of a sledgehammer appear from the shadows, and collide with Paul's head. The sound of his skull cracking fills the room, and blood splatters onto the wall. Bruce watches Paul's body crumple to the ground, nauseous at the sight. 

His eyes dart back up to the spot where Paul had been standing, hand flying to his belt, and he sees the figure of a woman in the darkness. 

"You don't gotta whip out your Batarangs or whatever, I ain't got business with you tonight," the woman waves a hand, as if to signal for him to relax, and leans on the sledgehammer. 

"You just killed a man," Bruce says slowly, hands not moving. "That means I've got business with you."

The woman laughs at this. 

"Oh please, as if I didn't just see you about to do the exact same."

Bruce begins to realise exactly what the feeling of sadistic satisfaction had meant from hurting Paul, and he feels as if he is about to vomit. 

"Besides," the woman continues, tone becoming more solemn, "He had it comin'. You and I both know he didn't have to kill him. And I think we both know why..."

Bruce stays silent, trying to make out the features of the mystery killer. 

"He was mentally ill. He needed help, not a death sentence. He needed _my_ help..."

The woman lapses into a thoughtful silence, and it drags on for a long moment. Finally, Bruce finds enough composure to speak. 

"Who are you?"

The woman slings the sledgehammer over her shoulder, and takes a few steps into the dim light seeping in from the window. She's wearing black boots, with red leggings and a black tank top. Her blonde hair is pulled up into two bunches, and she has eyeliner painted around her eyes in the shape of a mask. 

"The name's Harley. Harley Quinn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your canon backstories are putty in my chubby bisexual hands
> 
> Two chapters in one night cause why the FUCK not yknow


	7. Chapter 7

" _BRUCE THOMAS WAYNE, WHERE THE BLOODY FUCKING HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!_ "

Bruce cringes.   
Shouting is one thing;  
Cursing means that Alfred is furious;  
And using Bruce's middle name? Well, that means he may well die tonight at the older man's hands. 

Bruce turns to face Alfred, who is standing in front of the multiple large monitors of the Bat-computer. Bruce walks slowly towards the bottom of the steps leading up to the control deck, and looks up, cautiously meeting Alfred's scrutinising gaze. 

"Alfred--"

"No." 

Alfred's tone has turned to cold and controlled. It's actually more fear-inducing than the shouting. Hell, at this moment in time Bruce would rather take a bottle of Scarecrow's fear toxin than be on the receiving end of this. 

"Cowl off. I'm talking to the man under my care, not the vigilante who does whatever he bloody well wants."

Bruce swallows and, with hands that have a slight tremor to them, removes the cowl. He drops it to the floor with a 'thud' that echoes throughout the cave, and Alfred takes a few steps down towards him, so that they are eye level. He folds his arms, glaring at Bruce, and Bruce's gaze drops to the floor. 

"Explain yourself."

"I... I went to find the man who shot Joker. There-- Uh, there was this post online and it--"

"Yes, I know that much Bruce, I know how to work _BLOODY TWITTER_!" Alfred throws his hands up in despair, "I want to know why! I want to know why you thought this was a good idea, I want to know why you didn't even think to tell me before running off to God knows where, and I want to know why the man you went to 'visit' has just been reported as DEAD!"

Bruce's eyebrows knit together, and he feels his eyes sting. 

"I didn't--"

"Of course _I_ know you didn't. But what if someone saw you tonight?"

He looks Alfred straight in the eyes, and sees the glare has softened somewhat. The worry beneath begins to shine through, and he notes how tired Alfred looks. He sighs, a mix of frustration and exhaustion. 

"Bruce... Tell me what happened."

Bruce nods. 

"We should go upstairs, then, 'cause it's a long story."

Alfred fixes Bruce with a hard, scrutinising look. When he sees no injuries on Bruce, and a sincere look of remorse in his eyes, Alfred begins to lose the tension of his anger. He shakes his head, and gestures Bruce towards the lift out of the Bat-cave. 

"I'll put the kettle on."


	8. Chapter 8

"Her name is Harleen Quinzel, but she goes by 'Harley Quinn', now," Bruce explains, as he puts a hot cup of tea in front of Alfred, and sits next to him with a cup of his own. 

"She's a psychiatrist- only been one for about four years- but she's clever... I think that's why they gave her the job with so little experience."

"The job?" Alfred quirks an eyebrow. 

"She was... The Joker's therapist."

Alfred's jaw drops, and his brows knit together. Bruce imagines his face looked much the same when she had told him just an hour or so ago. 

_"He was so misunderstood. The first session we had together told me that instantly! He told me all about his tragic childhood, how his father never paid attention to him, how he just wanted to be loved, and someone to be proud of him. He said I was the only one that really_ got _him, y'know. Well, only one in Arkham..." Harley gives Bruce a sly look._

_He tries to ignore it._

_"Call me unqualified to say, but isn't killing someone in revenge of one of your psychotic patients a little... Unorthodox for a therapist?"_

_Harley rolls her eyes._

_"Yeah, as if I'm gonna be takin' coping mechanism tips from the man in the Bat costume. Besides, I don't work for Arkham no more. The way they treat their patients is disgustin'. I mean yeah, they're criminals, but that don't mean they're not people."_

_Bruce pauses for a moment, considering her._

_"I know. I know they're people, and I want to make sure they're treated as such too, but this," he gestures to the corpse in front of him, "This isn't the way to go about it."_

_"Eh, you got your methods, I got mine," She shrugs._

_"This isn't a case of differing opinions, this is murder. And I have to bring you in."_

_"That really still part of your code?" Harley raises an eyebrow, "I get stickin' to the 'No Murder' policy, and still wantin' better conditions for the city, but are you really still workin' with the cops? I mean hey-- I didn't realise until tonight that you were still workin' at all!"_

_Bruce feels a twinge of guilt, remembering all the nights that the Bat-signal had shone in the sky, and he had felt too heavy and drained to even respond to it._

_"But my point is," Harley continues, cutting Bruce's train of thought short, "What're you gonna do with the 'bad guys' if you can't even take 'em back to the 'good guys' anymore? It's like throwin' a gazelle to the lions after takin' away all her weapons! These cops, they're just as sadistic as half the criminals out on the streets! Only difference is, if they kill one of us, they get paid leave along with a hero's return..." Harley glances down at Paul's body by her feet, "Well, until I have somethin' to do with it."_

_Harley fixes Bruce with a challenging stare, and he can't help but match her gaze. The silence stretches on, the weight of it settling in Bruce's shoulders, as he tenses up. Harley quirks an eyebrow, and narrows her eyes, trying to read Bruce's expression._

_"So, Batty-boy, what's it gonna be?"_

Bruce looks down at his hands, tight around the mug of tea. He doesn't loosen his grip, because he knows if he does, his hands will shake. He feels the weight of Alfred's hand settle on his forearm, and looks up at him. 

"You let her go..." He states. 

Bruce nods, raising a hand to cover his eyes. 

"I just... Alfred--," He heaves in a shuddering sigh, "I don't know who I can trust anymore. It feels like everything I've been fighting for has been turned upside down. And now-- Now I don't know who's right and who's wrong. Good or bad. I don't--"

' _I don't know how much longer we can keep doing this_.'

Bruce inhales sharply as the memory claws its way to the forefront of his mind again, and Alfred gives his arm a squeeze, bringing him back to reality. When he speaks, all edge has dissipated from his tone. 

"You did the right thing tonight, Bruce."

Bruce looks at him, and gives him the most genuine smile he can muster. 

"Thanks, Alfred."

"But if you ever run off again without so much as warning me, I'll ground you like a bloody teenager, alright?"

For the first time in a week, Bruce laughs. 


	9. Chapter 9

_"C'mon, Bats, you're gonna waste all your strength."_

_Bruce doesn't listen, and kicks at the door again. It's weak, as he can feel the energy slipping from him. His muscles are tensing up from the cold._

_God, the cold._

_The sharpness penetrates Bruce's suit with ease, and the icy chill settles deep within him. It feels like it's saturated in his bones at this point. His teeth chatter, and he can't feel his fingers or toes anymore. The rest of him stings and aches, as the chill persists. His lungs burn slightly with every breath, and his eyes water when he breathes too heavily._

_He turns to face the Joker._

_Joker is leaning against the wall beside the door. He has his arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and he is shivering almost to the point of convulsion. His skin has a slight blue tint to it, and it makes the shadows under his eyes all the darker. Despite his state, he still manages to bat his eyelids and give Bruce a smile._

_Bruce feels a stab of sympathy for Joker, which he tries to convince himself is just delirium. If he's freezing under his thick armour, Bruce can't imagine how bad Joker must feel in just his suit._

_"That's better!" Joker grins with a clenched jaw, "I'd be far too bored if you just up and died so quickly."_

_Bruce can see his breath when he sighs in exasperation._

_"...Thought the cold would have made you less talkative," Bruce mutters._

_"Only once I'm dead, darling," Joker forces with a sing-song voice._

_Bruce walks stiffly to Joker's side and leans on the wall heavily beside him. He closes his eyes for a moment, focusing on his breathing._

_In... Out... In... Out..._

_He feels a hand pat his cheek._

_"Hey... Bats. You can't go to sleep right now. Open those beautiful blues and talk to me."_

_Bruce cracks open his eyes to see Joker, standing in front of him. He catches the look of worry on his face, before it's replaced by a half-hearted sneer. Joker turns and leans back against the wall._

_"I was worried you were gonna give me the cold shoulder, there."_

_He laughs, but Bruce can tell it's a strain for him. Penguin's body guards had really done a number on them, Joker especially. Bruce at least had his armour, and had got away with just a few scrapes and bruises, but Joker has dried blood from his nose and lip on his face, and he clutches at his side as he laughs, indicating a cracked rib._

_Why Joker had decided to try and destroy The Iceberg Lounge was a mystery to Bruce, as was anything he did. Maybe it was a power play. It was most likely just boredom. Whatever it was, it hadn't been enough for him to take on The Penguin and all of his staff. Joker had, however, managed to detonate one of the bombs he had, and had blown up about a third of the building. That's when Bruce had taken action, and landed himself in the locked back-room freezer alongside Joker, with the temperature turned down as far as it will go._

_He looks over, and sees Joker is shivering even more violently now. His eyes are trained on the floor in front of him, and his teeth are grinding together._

_Bruce sighs, worry taking over, and reaches his hand out to Joker. He pulls him to his chest, and wraps his cape around the both of them._

_"Oh,_ Batsy _!" Joker tilts his head back slightly and grins up at him, "Buy a lady a drink first~!"_

_Bruce glares down at Joker for a moment, before the energy slips away from him to even do that._

_"It's to keep warm," He grunts, as Joker buries his head into the crook of his neck._

_Bruce is glad for his armour being there now more than ever..._

_They stay like that for a while, silent and shaking. Bruce tightens his grip on Joker, and runs his hand up and down his back. He tries not to notice the slight twist in his stomach._

_"Batsy, Batsy, Batsy," Joker sighs, voice soft, "What a mess we're in... I never saw it ending like this."_

_Bruce raises an eyebrow._

_"I never realised you saw it ending at all."_

_"Not at first," Joker murmurs, "But... I've just been thinking a lot, about our little game. And maybe... Maybe I can see the end in sight. But maybe it doesn't have to end with one of us dying."_

_Bruce's heart pounds in his ears, and he draws back to look Joker in the eye._

_"And... How do you think it would end?" He breathes, voice low._

_Joker is quiet, his gaze boring into Bruce's. His face is searching and... Hopeful? Bruce can't quite discern what he's feeling, and he finds himself leaning in closer to him._

_"I thought... Maybe... We wouldn't have to end as enemies. Maybe we could have been something... More..."_

_Joker's voice has dropped to a whisper, and Bruce's hands have stilled on either side of his waist._

__More. __

_Bruce swallows, trying to process what he's hearing. He can't focus, though, because of the bright, green eyes fixed on him, and the weight of Joker's body against his own, and the way they're both leaning in, closer, and closer, and--_

_**CRASH!** _

_Bruce and Joker are knocked to the ground as the wall behind them is blown apart. They land heavily on the ground, and Bruce braces himself on top of Joker to shield both of them from the flying shrapnel of metal and concrete._

_"What the fuck was that?!" Bruce shouts, ears ringing._

_Joker opens his eyes, and quirks an eyebrow._

_"I guess they didn't get to the last bomb before it detonated!"_

_Bruce looks behind him, and sees the door to the freezer has been blown off it's hinges. He turns back to Joker._

_"Can you run?"_

_"I can try!" He grins up at Bruce._

_Bruce climbs to his feet, and helps Joker up after him. Joker winces, but once he's on his feet, they take off through the door. The heat that hits him when he's out of the freezer almost knocks Bruce out. He looks around the hall, and sees that a lot of it is on fire. He glances to his left, and sees another hallway leading to an exit out onto the roof. He motions to Joker, and they begin to run._

_Bruce is instantly winded, and his muscles ache from the coldness in them. Joker barks out a harsh laugh beside him, and he can tell he's in pain too. The building feels as if it's shaking beneath their feet, and Bruce pushes his legs to move faster. They burst through the exit onto the roof terrace, and Bruce fumbles with his grappling hook. He grabs Joker by the waist, and shoots it onto the building next to the Iceberg Lounge. They land on the roof just as half of the building crumbles._

_They stand together, watching the flames lap at the rest of the club, and catching their breath._

_"You... You need to get to a hospital--," Bruce says, turning to Joker._

_But when he looks over, the clown's already gone._

Bruce's eyes crack open, and he groans. For the third time in a week, he'd had the same dream. As if the memory of their second-last encounter isn't bad enough, Bruce feels the familiar feeling of 'what if' wash over him. 

' _What if I had tried to find him over the next month. What if I had followed him when he disappeared that night. What if that bomb had gone off a second later... Everything could have changed... He might even still--_ '

Bruce's train of thought it interrupted suddenly, at an urgent rapping on his door, before Alfred throws it open. 

"Alfred?" He sits up, "What's wrong?"

"It's breaking news," Alfred grimaces, breathing unsteady, "Somebody saw you last night and-- Well--"

He shows Bruce his phone, which is on a local news app, and Bruce's stomach drops at the headline. 

**_IS BATMAN A MURDERER?_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't you hate it when you get cockblocked by your own bombs ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	10. Chapter 10

"Sir, do you really think this is a good idea?"

Bruce finishes tying his cape, and turns to face Alfred. He's fiddling with his cufflink, which Bruce knows is a sign he's nervous. He gives Alfred a small smile, but he knows it doesn't assure him. 

"I need to do this, Alfred. It's not just about clearing my name, it's about keeping Batman a symbol of hope. If they think I did this... Then there will be no one else for the city to turn to."

Alfred takes the cowl off its stand, and Bruce puts it on. Alfred smiles gingerly, as he smooths the cape over Bruce's shoulders. 

"You know... You're just like them, Bruce. Your determination to always do right would make them proud," he draws back, eyes shining. 

Bruce can feel his own eyes beginning to water, too. It's not often Alfred talked about his parents. 

"Plus," Alfred continues, wiping the corner of his eye, "You're bloody stubborn enough to be a Wayne."

Bruce huffs out a laugh. 

"Thanks, Alfred."

There's a pause, where Alfred looks as if he wants to say something more. He looks Bruce over, contemplating. 

"You've... Done this for a while, now, Master Bruce," he looks uneasy, "Have you ever- well- have you ever thought about when you're going to..." 

He trails off, and Bruce nods. 

"I have... Thought about it, once or twice,"

He remembers the night in The Iceberg Lounge, and feels his heart twinge again. 

"But not yet... Gotham still needs its hero. Now more than ever"


	11. Chapter 11

"Harley!" Bruce's voice cuts through the dead silence of the abandoned arcade, "I know you're here!"

He'd tracked Harley from a few blocks away, when he had first spotted her darting down the street. 

"Gosh Bat-boy, it's like you're obsessed with me!" Harley's voice drifts over from behind Bruce, and he whirls around, "I ain't even done nothin' tonight!"

"I'm taking you in for the murder of Paul Rodgers." Bruce advances, fists clenched. 

"Oh, you on that again?" Harley rolls her eyes, leaning against an old Pac Man machine, "I thought we came to an understandin'."

"Things have changed."

"Wait a sec," Harley snaps her fingers with the hand not holding her sledgehammer, "Is this 'cause you're gettin' the blame for killing him instead of me?"

Bruce falters, and Harley barks out a humourless laugh. 

"If it's just good PR you were wantin' you didn't have to put on the whole 'dark knight' act, jeez! Tell ya what, since Jay was so fond of ya, I won't bash your head in tonight, and I'll even co-operate! But you gotta let me go, 'kay? It's still a whole grey area of who you can trust in this city."

Bruce shakes his head. 

"No. I can't keep letting you go."

"Why, cause that'd make you look bad?" Harley raises an eyebrow, scowling, "Well, if you wanna do this the hard way..."

She raises her sledgehammer. 

Bruce's hands fly to his belt, but before Harley can move forward and strike, the hammer is pulled from her hands by someone behind her. She whirls around with a shout, but is met with a first connecting with her jaw. The punch sends her crashing into the large machine she was leaning on, and it falls backwards with the force. The sound of glass shattering fills the room. 

Bruce's gaze goes from Harley back to where she was standing just before, and before he can react, a blur of red and green fills his vision, before he is knocked backwards. He falls to his back, winded, as he realises he has been kicked in the stomach, but he quickly scrambles to his feet. He raises his fists, but falters when he sees the man in front of him. 

No-- Not a man. Boy. 

He doesn't look more than twenty, and he's wearing what looks like a home-made costume. 

Bruce is getting sick of the sight of those. 

He's wearing red boots over green leggings, with a green long-sleeved t-shirt, and a red sleeveless shirt over it. He's smeared black paint over his eyes and- oh, God- Bruce tries not to roll his eyes as he notices the bright yellow crookedly-cut cape tied around his shoulders. 

The boy throws another punch at Bruce, and he dodges it, jumping backwards. Bruce tries to resist the reflex to throw a hook back. He refuses to hit a _child_. The boy follows, trying again, and Bruce catches his arm this time. 

"What the hell are you doing?!" Bruce asks, catching the boy's other arm as he tries to catch him in the jaw. 

"I'm doing what _used_ to be your job!" The boy replies, struggling against him. 

Bruce is about to ask him who he is, but the boy suddenly gags as the cape around his throat is tugged, and he's dragged away from Bruce. The boy wheels around, and Bruce sees Harley standing before him.

"You little BRAT!" She uppercuts him, and sends him staggering backwards. 

Harley reaches out and pulls the boy back, throwing him to the ground and landing a kick to his stomach. He curls in on himself and cries out with a cough. Bruce runs to grab her, just as Harley reaches for her sledgehammer, but she sees him and whirls round, catching him in the side with the hammer. Bruce doubles over and drops to his knees, the armour absorbing a lot of the shock, but not enough for him not to be severely winded. Harley turns back to the boy, and kicks him again, hard. Bruce hears the liquid in his cough, and guesses it's blood. 

Bruce pushes himself to his feet, and charges at Harley, as she lifts the hammer over her head. He pushes her forwards, and she trips over the boy and crashes to the ground. Harley growls, pulling herself up on one of the machines, and turns to face Bruce. They glare at each other, both breathing raggedly, but unmoving.

After a moment, Harley seems to reconsider, and sneers at him before turning tail and running out the door. She's gone too quickly, but Bruce doesn't care. 

He turns his attention to the boy at his feet. 

He crouches down, and looks him over. The boy glares up at him with all the strength he can muster, and Bruce notices his eye is red, most likely to bruise. His nose is bleeding, and blood is trickling out of his mouth as well. Bruce puts an arm around him, but the boy struggles against him. 

"Hey!" Bruce snaps, "I'm going to help you. But you have to stay still."

"Why should I trust you?" The boy coughs, "You're a murderer. You're just like her."

"No, I'm not," Bruce growls, "Can you stand?"

The boy is silent, and Bruce sighs in frustration. 

"Look, I know what the news is saying about me right now, but it's not true. I didn't kill Rodgers- she did. And you can believe me or not, but right now you've sustained a lot of damage, and I think your best bet is to trust me. Now-- Can. You. Stand?"

The boy glares for a moment longer, then nods. Bruce leans down and loops the boy's arm around his neck, and helps him up. The boy inhales sharply as he moves, but is steady once on his feet. 

"We've got a bit of a walk ahead." Bruce grimaces. 

The boy doesn't respond, looking ahead with a steely determination in his eye. They trudge to the doors, and out into the empty street. They walk in silence for a few blocks, before a thought occurs to Bruce. 

"What's your name, anyway?" Bruce asks as he helps the boy limp down the street. 

"Robin," The boy replies.

Bruce pauses for a moment. 

"Wait... Is that your actual name?"

Robin turns his head to glare at Bruce. 

"No. It's my hero name. Is 'Batman' _your_ real name?"

"'Hero' name?!" Bruce gapes, "You can't be out here fighting criminals! You look like you're barely out of kindergarten!"

"I'm fucking seventeen!" Robin winces as he raises his voice. 

They round the corner into an alleyway, and Robin's eyes widen. 

"Is that-- The Bat-mobile?!" 

Bruce doesn't reply, unlocking it and helping Robin into the passenger's seat. He groans in pain with the movement. 

Bruce gets into the driver's seat, feeling his own injury as he does. He pauses for a moment, looking ahead and wondering what the hell to do next. Looking over to Robin, Bruce assesses his injuries. He looks a bit worse for wear, fresh blood still oozing from his nose, and eye beginning to flower into a bruise. Bruce decides he'll need to check for any signs of internal damage, and starts the car. 

Robin looks at him. 

"Where are we going?"

Bruce sighs, hands tight on the steering wheel. He's anxious about it, but he doesn't see any other options. The kid's only seventeen; he can't just let him go without treating him. 

"I'm taking you to the Bat-cave."

Beside him, he hears Robin breath in a small gasp. 

"Holy shit, Batman!"


	12. Chapter 12

"So, what's your real name?"

Robin fidgets, looking uncomfortable. 

"I told you mine," Bruce quirks an eyebrow, "I'd say it's a fair trade."

He'd taken the cowl off once inside the cave. There had been no point in hiding it anymore, since Robin knew exactly who's mansion they were under. 

"Dick Grayson," He mumbles. 

Bruce nods, the sign of trust easing his nerves slightly. He presses two fingers to Dick's sides, and he jolts with a giggle. Bruce shoots him a questioning look. 

"It tickles," Dick says, sheepish. 

"But no pain?"

Dick shakes his head. 

"Okay," Bruce draws back, "You don't seem to have sustained anything more severe than a couple of cuts and bruises. You should count yourself lucky. It could have gone a lot worse for you."

Dick sits up on the examination table so his legs dangle over it, and he flashes Bruce a smile. 

"So I'm fighting fit again?" 

Bruce freezes. 

"What?! You can't mean to tell me you're going back out there!"

"Of course I am!" Dick jumps off the table, drawing himself up to full height and puffing out his chest, "Gotham needs me! Especially since you've gone AWOL since before tonight."

Dick crosses his arms and fixes Bruce with a glare. Bruce gapes at him, taken aback, but then scrubs a hand over his face. 

"I've... Been going through something."

Dick pauses for a moment, glare losing some of its edge as he sees just how exhausted Bruce looks. 

"Well... That's why the city needs me! So I can fight crime when you're unable to!" 

"Absolutely not," Bruce shakes his head. "This is no place for a kid; I mean look what happened to you tonight! You're lucky you got out with just a couple of scrapes! You're too brash and fragile. You're not ready for this. Now come on, I'm taking you home."

Bruce feels guilt coiling in his stomach, but he pushes it aside, deciding 'tis kinder to be cruel in this instance. He may have hurt the kid, but hurt feelings mend quicker than a broken neck. Bruce turns and strides towards the Bat-mobile, and when he opens the door and turns back to Dick, he notices the boy hasn't moved. 

"Come on," Bruce gestures to the car. 

Dick scowls at Bruce with a slightly trembling lip. 

"You can't take me home," He replies, voice steadier than Bruce had expected. "I don't... Have one."

"What?" Bruce's face falls, "You're homeless?"

Dick nods, brows pulled together. 

"Yeah. Apparently since I turned seventeen I'm 'not the state's problem' anymore."

"Where were you before?"

Dick's jaw sets. 

"Orphanage." 

Bruce's stomach drops. 

"You're an orphan..."

Dick shrugs. 

"More or less. I don't wanna talk about it." 

Bruce doesn't know what to say; he's only ever been on the other end of this conversation. 

He settles with "I'm sorry. That must be tough for you."

"I mean it's not all been bad..." Dick perks up slightly, "Being on the streets is what inspired me to become a hero! Well, that, and you... That is, until you said all that." 

Dick let's out a sigh, shoulders dropping. 

"Look, just... Just drop me on the South side. I'll make my own way from there."

Dick, not meeting Bruce's gaze, walks to the passenger side of the Bat-mobile, but Bruce stops him when his hand is on the handle. 

"Wait," He walks around the car and stops in front of the boy, and Dick finally looks up at him. 

"How did it inspire you?"

Dick fixes Bruce with a questioning look, before his face lights up. 

"Because I realised that no one fights for the people out here on the streets- apart from you. And it's not like it's their fault they're out there. I mean, sometimes it is, but not always! There are people who have just had bad luck; people who fell into addictions, mentally ill people who couldn't get the right kind of help, kids who got cut off from their family... But the cops don't understand they deserve to be helped and protected too! The streets are one of the most dangerous places to be, especially with all these criminals out of Arkham! They see us as easy prey, and that's just not right. They need someone to be on their side-- They need a hero."

Bruce regards Dick for a moment. Maybe it's just the black paint around them, but his eyes look so bright. They're full of determination and righteousness. He reminds Bruce of, well, himself- when he first donned the cowl, and with it, the burden of Gotham's sins. He hadn't been as young as seventeen, and Dick looked slightly more malnourished than muscular, but Bruce could see the kid wasn't going to be dissuaded easily. 

"You're set on this- being a hero- aren't you?"

Dick nods, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the side of his mouth. 

"It's going to be dangerous... You're going to lose some battles- and there's no guarantee you'll win overall. This isn't some movie where good wins over evil at the end. It's far more messy than that."

"I know," Dick's eyes light up as Bruce speaks, "Are you telling me this because... You want me to help?"

"I don't want you to do this, because I don't want to put you in danger, but I know I can't stop you, so at least let me help you."

"Like a mentor?" Dick breathes. 

After one last mental argument with himself, Bruce nods. 

"Yes."

Robin claps a hand over his mouth and lets out a muffled squeal. 

"Oh my God, thank you!" He smiles brightly at Bruce, "I'll work so hard to follow in your footsteps, I promise!" 

Bruce flashes him a tired smile in return. 

"Have you eaten anything today?"

Dick pulls a face and shakes his head. 

"Come on," Bruce nods in the direction of the lift up to the manor, "I'll get you something to eat. And you're not going back onto the streets; you can stay here."

Robin's jaw drops. 

"Seriously?!"

"Of course. I'm not going to send you back out there. Not in your condition, at least."

Robin slowly grins, and follows Bruce to the lift that goes up to the mansion. Bruce presses the button, and turns back to Dick. 

“Oh, and, in the morning, I’m getting you a new costume. Because, this, just... Jesus Christ...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who’s the worst and takes years to update their fics!!!!!!! this cunt!!!!!!!!!! sorry!!!!!!!!!! :))))))))
> 
> also lmao “Bruce regards Dick” is one of the dirtiest non-porn scentences ive ever written


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